


Git Gud, n00b

by thewritingotter



Series: The trials and tribulations of social distancing [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley teaches Aziraphale how to play a video game, M/M, Overwatch - Freeform, social distancing, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingotter/pseuds/thewritingotter
Summary: Crowley had immediately apologised to their new friends, closed his and Aziraphale’s game, took his headset off, sat on Aziraphale’s lap, and settled in for a long, messy snog.Whoever said video games kill romance was talking out of their arse.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The trials and tribulations of social distancing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692232
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Git Gud, n00b

Crowley doesn’t much miss being social. 

He is _good_ at it -- charming people, engaging and impressing them -- but that's really just the nature of his job. Kowtowing to his rich bosses and even richer clients, lying for them to save heaps of their dosh -- no one ever likes their job, but Crowley holds a special hatred for his own morally bankrupt one. Still, he's got a serpent's tongue, and no one can fault him, really, for using it to earn lots of well-deserved dough for himself and for Aziraphale.

He grins fondly at his fiance over his laptop. Aziraphale must've felt his stare; the other man looks up and with an affectionate little smile, touches Crowley's hand minutely before letting go. Despite having reassured Aziraphale a long time ago that his presence is never a distraction, the blond has always been mindful when Crowley's playing a game, choosing to keep to himself as much as possible. He's sweet, Aziraphale. 

And it's a good thing too, because Crowley is quite the liar. Aziraphale will always be a most tempting distraction. 

Anyway. 

Crowley much prefers this: him in his fanciest pants (Aziraphale bought them as a joke for Valentines, but they're nice and comfortable and Crowley is quite charmed by the little hearts dotting them) and his sharpest jacket with a matching shirt and tie (for those pesky Zoom calls), a blanket over his shoulders, an Aziraphale, and a far more enjoyable mission. 

“I got my ulty,” Anathema says through the mic, voice quick and urgent. There’s a dark whispery shiver and her Reaper disappears in front of Crowley.

“I’ve got ninety-five percent for mine,” Crowley replies just as seriously. 

“EMP in two minutes?”

Crowley hums. “Less.” He threads invisibly through the enemy team. “You’ve got to get to high ground.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Such language, young lady! Why, I’m clutching my pearls!”

Anathema scoffs. “Shut it, old man.” He's only a year older than her. 

“Oi!” She laughs. Under Crowley’s breath he counts _three, two, one,_ and in a flash of brilliant purple, a dome erupts from his darling Sombra and the enemy team is rendered helpless. Quick to follow, Anathema’s Reaper jumps down in the middle and starts shooting everyone.

“ _Die, die, die_ ,” Anathema whispers darkly with her counterpart. Crowley snickers. It’s really difficult to be terrified of Anathema when he’s seen her in flowery dungarees and bright yellow boots.

She was seven then, granted, but Crowley will never let _that_ go. 

“Play of the game, I call it!” Crowley whoops. Aziraphale cheers with him even though he hasn’t a clue what’s going on. That, of course, warrants a quick kiss from Crowley. Sometimes he’s just too adorable for words.

“Is that Aziraphale?” Anathema calls from his headset. 

“Who else would it be, you daft woman,” Crowley says after another kiss. 

He can almost imagine her sour scowl. “Stop snogging him in the middle of the game! You’re gonna get yourself-” As if on cue, Crowley’s Sombra is brutally killed by a charging Reinhardt.

“Worth it!” Crowley says as he privately swears to make this Reinhardt’s life a living hell.

Aziraphale delicately plucks his headset from him, placing it over his own curls. “Hello, Anathema, darling!” Crowley spares him a quick smile before proceeding to sneak back to where he knows Reinhardt is. He snickers to himself. 

“Ah, yes, it’s a proper ring," Aziraphale continues, "oh no, definitely lots of stammering and blubbering. Not a smooth proposal at all!”

“Tell her I was debonair!” Crowley calls out as he hacks Reinhardt. “I was suave and handsome and cool as a cucumber the whole time!”

“ _Heaps_ of crying. Oh, but I cried first, made a right mess of myself." A loud _aww_ erupts from the headset. Crowley scowls. Of course, _of course_ , Anathema would find an emotional Aziraphale adorable. She'd be unbearably obnoxious if it were Crowley. 

To be fair, Crowley would be the same if it were ever the reverse. 

Aziraphale smirks. "Oh, yes, it was ugly crying. He was very splotchy in the face." His hand cards through Crowley's hair, as if in apology, and Crowley allows himself to enjoy it before shoving the soft hand away. 

He stands up to take the headset away from his fiance (he ignores Aziraphale's pout. He's weak to it, but he's built up an effective albeit flimsy immunity from it over the years), plopping back in his seat to a screen announcing their defeat. Ah, well. At least he got Reinhardt to leave before it ended. 

"Are you trying to corrupt my fiance, you witch?" he hisses. 

Anathema laughs. "As if you haven't already, you wily demon." 

He flushes deeply as he caresses the dark silicon band on his ring finger. Aziraphale got him the silly little thing over Amazon and said he'll get a proper ring when social distancing is done and everything's blown over, but Crowley quite likes the one he has. It's soft and flexible and not at all intrusive like new rings tend to be. 

It feels… right.

Aziraphale hadn’t been lying about the ugly crying. It _was_ quite humiliating -- him blubbering as soon as Aziraphale had knelt in front of him (that darling old-fashioned sod) with the ring still in the Amazon box -- but he’d just been so overwhelmed by how much he loves him, how much he loves _them_ together. 

Some days he opens his eyes and thinks maybe this is the morning he wakes up from this wonderful dream and into the real, dreary world where he's just a sad sack of a man who's mooned after his best friend enough that he's started dreaming it. Maybe the life they’ve built together -- Paris, their small apartment in London, walks through St. James, and dinners in places they can't rightfully afford -- is just a fantasy he wants so much to be real. 

But then Aziraphale kicks him in his sleep or pulls away from his chest with a string of disgusting drool, and Crowley thinks, well, he's alright then, isn't he? 

In between games, Aziraphale's dragged his own chair over, resting his head on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley brings a hand up to stroke fluffy, pale curls. He probably needs a break from work badly enough to content himself with watching Crowley play. 

"I've a handicap," Crowley says, interrupting Anathema musing loudly about her character choices. 

She stops mid-rant about how much she hates Hanzo. He's heard it all before. "What?" 

"I've a lovely person on my arm and I'm afraid I won't be able to play this game in my full capacity." Aziraphale awards him with a kiss on his cheek, settling back down after. 

"You- no excuses, Anthony, we all know you' re just shit at this game." 

"Oi, I'm a gold player, you knob!" 

"Mmhmm, not really helping your case here, friend." Crowley picks a sniper just to spite her. She knows he's a terrible shot half the time. 

Aziraphale perks up. "Oh, she's new," he says. 

"Widowmaker? She's been in the game forever."

“You haven’t played her much.” Aziraphale settles back on his shoulder. “She’s quite pretty.”

Crowley kisses him on his temple affectionately. “You’ve been watching me, eh, angel?”

Aziraphale huffs a small little laugh. “There’s nothing much lovelier to see ‘round here.”

Ahh, that’s _smooth_. Crowley hurries to cover his blush with an awkward nudge. “You naughty stalker!” 

“Oh, quiet you!”

“Ugh, disgusting,” Anathema says as she switches from her favourite Reaper to a Hanzo. She’s a horrible Hanzo. She only really plays him when she's given up on a game. “Sounds like your boyfriend is a bit lonely there.”

“Wha- it’s fiance, Anathema, _fiance_.”

“ _Whatever_ ! Point is, you’re stuck all day in your apartment with your _fiance_ , and you’re here playing a game with me-”

“I love playing with you!”

“I know, I’m brilliant. Haven’t you thought maybe Aziraphale might be bored, too, with nothing to do half the day but read some old geezer’s sexcapades?” There’s a thoughtful silence where they both shiver in disgust. “Actually, that sounds far from boring.”

“So far opposite it might be fun?”

“Mmm. No.”

“Yes, point.” Crowley looks down at Aziraphale, at the dark lashes and sweet shock of curly blond hair. He’s a handsome bloke, Aziraphale, and Crowley can’t quite believe how much he’s lucked out. “You getting lonely, angel?”

Aziraphale wrinkles his nose. “Ah, is Anathema worried?”

Crowley shrugs. “We could turn the telly on,” he continues, “open that tin of earl grey biscuits you like. Make a day of ripping into those chavs in Big Brother.” Crowley does so love his trashy shows.

“You know she’s only trying to get me to play,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley feels something _click_ , the same way he felt something click back on that train from Paris when Aziraphale had beamed at him like Crowley was better than the bakes from his favourite boulangerie.

And why not really? Anathema and he have known each other for so long -- too long, she likes to say -- having met when they were both children. She’d been the first friend that his mother hadn’t picked out for him; he’d chosen her over all those rich snotty children his mother had liked to parade around, as if their general snobbishness would eventually cure Crowley of his dirty fingers, rumpled clothes, and penchant for romping around the gardens and forests that surrounded their estate. Anathema was fierce and honest -- still is, really -- and he loved her the moment he met her. He knew, instantly, that she’d be by him forever.

There’s no one he’d rather have beside him in battle.

And now, well. Who better to fight with them than the love of his life?

“Aziraphale,” Crowley begins, “darling, sweetheart, beautiful babe.”

“Oh no.” Aziraphale scoots his chair a bit away. “You- I know what that face means.”

Crowley takes his hand. “Angel, I have a proposition.”

“I will _not_ have sex with you on the balcony.”

“I heard that!” Anathema yelps. “Mute your fucking mic, seriously, Crowley!”

“It’s unsanitary!” Aziraphale continues. “I must simply refuse, darling.”

Crowley’s face is burning now. He hurriedly mutes his mic, leaving the game over Anathema’s protests. “No, angel, that’s not-” he sighs. “I feel like this is something we have to discuss when there’s-”

“No.”

“Okay.” Not that- not that he _actually_ wanted some balcony sex. “Would you like to play with Anathema and I?”

Aziraphale throws Crowley’s laptop an apprehensive look. “Play… that fighting game?”

“Overwatch, yeah.” At the dubious twist on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley continues, “What? It’s fun!”

“It seems… violent.”

“Angel, you once read a book about children murdering each other, I do think violence is the least of your problems.” Aziraphale worries at his sweater, biting his bottom lip. “Listen, it’ll be fun, alright? Anathema and I, we’ll take good care of you.”

Aziraphale smiles hesitantly up at him. “Promise?”

Crowley beams, gathering him in his arms. “I promise. It’ll be great!”

It _isn’t_ great playing with Aziraphale.

After having set him up with an account and the game on his own laptop, Crowley sits him down and walks him through the tutorial, prodding and encouraging. Aziraphale seems to be doing well enough -- he learns fast and he shoots better than Crowley expects. He gets distracted by little details in the environment ( _oh look, Crowley, they’ve little lights on the ground!_ ), but that’s just the sort of quirk that so endears him to Crowley.

Crowley immediately pegs him as a healer, convincing him to try Mercy on first. He seems the sort, Aziraphale -- he’s even-tempered and kind with the type of aura that heals Crowley after a hard day of sucking up to privileged assholes.

Anathema is quick to tease him, saying he only really wants Aziraphale to play Mercy because they’re both fit, blue-eyed blondes. That isn’t true of course (they’re both angels, is all!).

“She’s easy to play, really,” Crowley tells Aziraphale, clicking so her brilliant yellow beam turns into a chaotic blue. “All you need to do is heal people and hide so no one kills you. No aiming, no shooting- well, unless it’s necessary.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies. If there’s a tiny tinge of disappointment there, Crowley ignores it in favour of a cheek peck. Once he gets his fiance in a game, he’s sure Aziraphale will love it.

It turns out to be quite the disaster.

He had expected Aziraphale getting lost in the map and in the details ( _Oh, the skies are so blue!_ And _isn’t this bush lovely!_ ), wandering around to see more of the charming bits and bobs littering the world. But what he hadn’t foreseen was his sweet, lovely fiance charging into battle with the rest of them, resurrecting players that are too far in the fight and forgetting to heal in favour of shooting surrounding enemies. It really is a bit dire, half of their healer duo recklessly fighting instead of healing them.

**[saltnpepper (D.Va)]: our healers are useless!!!!!**

**[Wensleydale (Zenyatta)]: I’m sorry, I’m trying!**

**[saltnpepper (D.Va)]: not you OBVIOUSLY**

**[theantichrist (Reinhardt)]: mercy please heal**

**[Wensleydale (Zenyatta)]: please, we’re all dying!**

“Aziraphale,” Anathema says meekly, “have you, perhaps, given healing a thought?”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale frowns. “I seem to have misplaced my staff, Crowley dear, how do you-”

Crowley only barely refrains from sighing. “Just scroll up, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He stands just off Anathema’s Soldier, healing her as he gazes around, apparently distracted by bricks. “I wonder if this is London now.”

“What d’you mean?” Crowley asks as he futilely tries to get Aziraphale’s healing attention by spamming X on his keyboard. 

“You know. All sad and abandoned.”

“I bet it’s cleaner,” Anathema says, cheered now that at least Aziraphale’s chosen to pocket her. “No idiots milling around, tossing their trash everywhere.”

“Oh, but I do miss the hustle and bustle,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “People can be such wonderful-” A shot rings out and Aziraphale’s Mercy is dead in an instant.

“Sniper,” Crowley snarls, looking around to spot her. Another shot rings out and Anathema falls. 

“She’s a good shot,” Anathema says, and Crowley can imagine her lips in a stern straight line. “Widowmaker up in that arch, Crowley.”

“On it.” 

“Oh dear, I really should’ve resurrected you, Anathema,” Aziraphale, who probably got lost on his way back, says regretfully, his beam now pointed at their Reinhardt. 

“It’s alright. Just be care-” 

Aziraphale’s dead again by the sniper’s hand.

“Found her,” Crowley says, and he unloads Sombra’s full clip on the sniper’s head, pleased by the cacophony of _tinks_. 

**[widowmakersbooty]: **** off sombra your trash**

“Ugh,” Crowley says in disgust, “can’t even spell right.”

**[viperized]: *you’re**

“What does that mean?” Aziraphale asks. “Asterisk, asterisk, asterisk, asterisk?”

Anathema laughs. “Oh, you sweet summer child.”

“It’s a swear word, darling,” Crowley explains, so thoroughly charmed, “the game censors them automatically.”

“Oh. Isn’t that nice?” Crowley chances a look up to his fiance, and he finds him smiling gently at the computer screen. It is, of course, ruined by another sharp shot from the sniper. “Not again!”

“She’s _definitely_ aiming for Aziraphale,” Anathema says. “That was a clean shot.”

Aziraphale pouts. “But why?”

“It’s ‘coz you’re playing Mercy,” Crowley says as he hunts this sniper again. No one focus kills his fiance like this and gets away with it. “I’ll get her.”

“Top left, Crowley. She moves around quite a bit, that clever knob,” Anathema says. “I’ve no idea where to expect her next.” A red line marks where she’s shooting from and Crowley follows it up to where Anathema had pointed earlier.

“Try to hide as much as you can, Aziraphale,” Crowley says as he makes himself invisible. “She’s got her sights on you.”

“I know,” Aziraphale says miserably as he gets shot again.

**[6bookworm9 (Mercy)]: Please stop killing me, I just want to have fun.**

Crowley watches in fascination as Widowmaker suddenly stops moving and fidgeting.

**[widowmakersbooty]: git gud n00b**

He sneers. Aiming carefully, making sure his reticle is trained on her head, Crowley shoots another full clip at Widowmaker, unbearably smug as she drops dead.

**[widowmakersbooty]: go suck a thick juicy **** sombra**

**[viperized (Sombra)]: done and done**

_Thank you_ , Aziraphale mouths, a light flush on his face. Crowley tries to ignore just how much that makes him feel like a hero. He gives Aziraphale's hand a fond little squeeze anyway.

**[widowmakersbooty]: your next *****

"I sure hope that's not the word I'm thinking of," Aziraphale, who's finally learned that staying behind a shield keeps him very much alive, says drily. 

"This is the internet, Aziraphale, it's _definitely_ the word you're thinking of," Anathema says just as drily. 

"What, you don't think the internet is the warm, welcoming, and inclusive world of knowledge our forefathers had dreamed it would be?" Crowley quips as he types:

**[viperized (Sombra)]: *you're**

Aziraphale sighs. "It's 2020." 

"Aww, sweet, summer child," Anathema coos again. 

"You'd think humanity's learned from the past, is all," Aziraphale continues. "Seems… Counterproductive to stay in a very toxic way of life." 

"Some people -- _some_ generations -- refuse to learn from past mistakes, angel," Crowley, who's fought to break away from his own family's toxicity, says. 

Aziraphale takes his hand. "They might find it worth it to." Crowley kisses his hand. 

"If it makes you feel better," Anathema cuts in, "people mostly say these things when they're anonymous. Makes them feel like the big man." 

Aziraphale frowns. "It really doesn't. Make me feel better, that is."

"I've got my ulty," Crowley says. "Got yours, Anathema?" 

" _Ages_ ago. How does it take you so long to charge EMP?" 

Crowley scowls. "Sombra is a high-skill character!" He spams Z on his keyboard to let the other players know. They come back with affirmatives. 

"Yeah, yeah." Anathema disappears to where she likes to be for a surprise shoot out. She can be quite crafty, and more often than not, Crowley's grateful to be on her side. "I'm ready." 

Crowley deftly sidesteps the enemies as he positions his Sombra. Idly, he notices the sniper jumping up across him and activating her own ultimate ability. Ignoring her, he presses Q, activating his magnificent dome, but before he can fully hack the others, the sniper hits him, precise and deadly. Aziraphale flies in to resurrect him, but it’s a futile effort. He's killed as soon as he alights. 

Crowley squawks in distress. "She killed me!" he shrieks, "She killed me while I was ult-ing!" 

"Told you she's a bloody good shot," Anathema says as she activates her own ultimate, managing to take two of the enemies out. 

"I didn't think she'd be _that_ good, did I?" 

**[widowmakersbooty]: got u *****

**[viperized (Sombra)]: lucky shot**

**[6bookworm9] switched to Widowmaker (from Mercy)**

Crowley blinks. "Aziraphale, darling, love of my life." Aziraphale looks up to him, but instead of the pleasant smile that Crowley is expecting, his lips are in a hard determined line. It takes him aback, even as he asks, "Why the hell are you switching to _Widowmaker_?" 

"She killed you," Aziraphale replies by way of explanation. 

"What- what do you-" Aziraphale's character grapples away before Crowley can even- well he can't block her way out, but that wouldn't've stopped him from trying. "Oi, come back here!" He sighs when Aziraphale doesn't reply. 

**[viperized] switched to Moira (from Sombra)**

**[saltnpepper (D. Va)]: great our mercy switched…**

**[Wensleydale (Zenyatta)]: Please help me, Moira!**

**[viperized (Moira)]: alright alright hold your horses**

After a beat, he continues:

**[viperized (Moira)]: i trust him**

**[theantichrist (Reinhardt)]: gay**

**[saltnpepper (D. Va)]: dont be homophobic**

**[theantichrist (Reinhardt)]: gay as in lame**

**[theantichrist (Reinhardt)]: not you know the other thing**

**[viperized (Moira)]: we're that too thanks**

"Sure hope you know what you're doing, Aziraphale," Anathema says as her Soldier is shot dead again by the other team's sniper. 

Aziraphale, who's disappeared from where Crowley or Anathema can see him, remains silent. 

"She needs to be precise, Aziraphale," Crowley says, trying to draw from his own limited experience as Widowmaker. "You may want to lower your mouse sensitivity."

A shot rings out and one of the enemies drops. It was a clean headshot. "Oh, thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says. There's another shot, and the enemy sniper dies as well. 

**[widowmakersbooty]: ohoho the mouse has learnd to adapt**

Three more shots from Aziraphale and three more enemies are dead by him. 

**[theantichrist (Reinhardt)]: holy ******

**[saltnpepper (D. Va)]: holy ******

**[Wensleydale (Zenyatta)]: holy crap**

“Jesus, Aziraphale, thanks for the hard carry,” Anathema breathes out.

Crowley gapes at Aziraphale. “How did you-”

Aziraphale beams. “I love shooting,” he says simply, his focus drawn again back to the game as the enemies start returning. “I like the sound it makes. _Tink!_ Isn’t it delightful?” He wiggles happily.

“Yeah, of course, it’s terrific,” Crowley says, still gobsmacked.

“Thank you- Oh, excuse me, my dear, I’ve people to kill.” The other sniper is dead before Crowley can even cobble together a reply along the lines of “how are you this violent, my sweet beloved angel” or “I’m marrying a _sniper_ ” or “this is ridiculously hot _and_ terrifying.”

He settles for, “Alright, yeah, let’s win, yeah.”

**[theantichrist] has joined the voice channel**

**[saltnpepper] has joined the voice channel**

**[Wensleydale] has joined the voice channel**

“Widowmaker,” a young child voice says as theantichrist’s icon flashes in their screen, “are you a smurf?”

“He _has_ to be,” a little girl’s voice says. Saltnpepper sounds severe and combative, even though they’re winning the fight. “No one is that good at level 4.”

Aziraphale looks up to Crowley. “Crowley, how do I-?”

“Press P, love, and pick an option.”

**[6bookworm9] has joined the voice channel**

“Erm, hello?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly. “Hello?”

“We can hear you,” saltnpepper says, annoyed.

“Why do you sound old?” Wensleydale finally pipes up.

Aziraphale and Crowley share a confused look. It’s not that they’re old -- it’s just that these children are much too young. “I suppose I am,” Aziraphale says, “old, that is. What is a smurf?”

“What- what do you mean _what is a smurf_?” saltnpepper demands as Aziraphale proceeds to kill two of their enemies and the enemy sniper as well. “You’re one, aren’t you?”

 **[viperized] has joined the voice channel**

“Pepper, come on.” To Aziraphale, theantichrist explains, “A smurf is someone pretending to be new at the game.”

“Oh, well, I’m new,” Aziraphale says.

“Bollocks!” saltnpepper exclaims.

“No, it’s true, he just started. I got him an account today,” Crowley joins in. “And don’t say _bollocks_ , you’re a child!”

“You sound old too!” Wensleydale says.

“Bloody bollocks beef curtains!” saltnpepper says, but she sounds more amused than angry this time.

**[widowmakersbooty]: report 6bookworm9 for aimbotting**

**[widowmakersbooty]: hes ****in cheating**

“Cheating! My word!” Aziraphale exclaims, aghast. 

**[6bookworm9]: That’s a vile accusation!**

He kills the other Widowmaker again, as if to prove a point.

**[widowmakersbooty]: **** you ******

Anathema guffaws. “Well, someone’s salty!”

“ _Are_ you cheating?” theantichrist asks.

“I wouldn’t even know how,” Aziraphale replies. “And even if I did, cheating is dishonourable!”

“And probably expensive,” Crowley says.“My fiance is a gentleman.” Aziraphale sends him a smile so bright and affectionate, Crowley feels weak at his knees even when he’s sat down.

“Just making sure,” theantichrist says.

Oh, but Crowley knows Aziraphale has a vendetta now. The blond absolutely abhors being accused of cheating as much as cheating itself (although he isn’t above bending the rules as far as they can go). Once, when they were playing Monopoly, Hastur stole money from the bank when Gabriel was oh-so-casually flirting with a very much disinterested Beezle. Hastur’d denied it vehemently, but Aziraphale, who has quite the head for numbers, knew how much money he had and what he had done. Instead of tattling off to Gabriel, Aziraphale bade his time, watching and waiting and negotiating, until he’d bought all the blue and brown spaces Hastur, Crowley, and Michael had been too impulsive and too impatient to collect. Which was fine, really -- as part of the negotiations, Aziraphale had promised to lower rents by half should Crowley, Michael, or Beezle pass by his properties.

Poor Hastur though wasn’t afforded the same kindness; whenever he dropped by Aziraphale’s properties, he was charged such an outrageous price that, before long, he was bankrupted so badly the older man had erupted in angry tears.

Now, as soon as the other sniper appears, she’s shot dead immediately. It doesn’t matter where she’s hidden -- somehow, Aziraphale always knows where she is, and he’s there waiting to shoot her. She’s killed so frequently that Crowley’s convinced she’s hardly played at all since Aziraphale switched. And without her, their team easily defended their side, slaughtering their enemies until they can only trickle back. 

When Aziraphale shoots the sniper for the last time, he grapples up the ledge where she was, crouches over her body, and waves at it. 

**[widowmakersbooty]: **** off *****

Crowley looks up to crack a joke about how there’s only so much one can repeat an insult, but his mouth dries at the vindictive glee written on Aziraphale’s face. With a little shoulder shimmy, Aziraphale types:

**[6bookworm9]: get good, N00b**

**[widowmakersbooty] left the game**

“Are you guys _really_ gay?” theantichrist asks during their third game together.

“Adam! We don’t just ask people if they’re gay!” saltnpepper admonishes. Anathema left after that first game, but Crowley’s sure that she would adore saltnpepper.

“Why not? Is it homophobic to ask?” Wensleydale says.

Aziraphale laughs. “No, no it isn’t at all!”

“We’re flaming gay,” Crowley says. They’re waiting for the game to start and it seems the children are becoming too fascinated with their older teammates.

“Are you always on fire if you’re flaming?” cheesybri -- the last of theantichrist’s little gang -- asks.

“You’re embarrassing, the lot of you,” saltnpepper says, cross, “but none more than you, Brian.”

“Oi! That’s not very nice, innit?”

“It’s good that you are,” theantichrist says as his friends bicker, “gay, I mean. And not, like, hiding it or whatever. I heard my mum tell old Mrs. Brown across the street once that she’s got a friend who’s _in the closet_. It’s horrible, she says, hiding who you are.”

“Does it matter at all?” Wensleydale asks. “Who you… who you _like_?”

“It shouldn’t,” Aziraphale says gently. “People think it does, but we all should have the freedom to love whom we choose to love.”

“How did you know?” saltnpepper asks over Athena announcing that the game has started. “That you’re- that you’re gay, I mean.”

Aziraphale and Crowley share a look. Well. With a little shrug, Aziraphale says, “I knew when I realised I’ll never like girls like my cousin Gabriel did.”

“Not that they ever liked good ol’ Gabe,” Crowley quips. He’s never really been fond of Gabriel.

“It took me quite a bit,” Aziraphale admits. “For a while, I thought that maybe I just can’t be attracted to anyone. And that’s fine -- some people end up never being attracted to anyone at all. There’s the occasional boy I’d have a pash on, but that was fleeting. And I’d thought, well, maybe that was a one off, something that didn’t mean to happen. But then, I met a boy.” Aziraphale smiles at Crowley, sweet and soft. “And I fell in love with that boy.”

“I hope he makes you happy,” Crowley says quietly.

Aziraphale tangles his well manicured hands with Crowley’s own long knobbly ones. “Extremely.”

“I like boys,” saltnpepper says, “but sometimes- sometimes I like girls too. And I don’t know… it feels wrong that I- I can’t seem to pick a side.”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley says. “Look, the older you get the more you’d realise that it isn’t the side that’s important; it’s the person you eventually choose to be with.”

“I like girls,” cheesybri sighs. “They never like me though. Am I a _good ol’ Gabe_?”

Aziraphale laughs. “Gabriel, if you must know, is married to an amazing person.”

“Oh, oh that’s good!”

“My mum and dad told me I’m not to date until I’ve graduated high school,” Wensleydale says, and Crowley can almost imagine a tiny little swot pushing his glasses up. “I’m to be a nutritionist, you know.”

“Ah,” Crowley sighs, “to be young and ambitious.”

“I’ll never do something as silly as falling in love or dating!” theantichrist says determinedly. “I’ll do more important things like- like going on adventures or saving the world or building a proper clubhouse in the woods.”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Lofty, that.”

“It’ll be a tree clubhouse,” theantichrist says, probably lost now in his visions for this great clubhouse. “Up an oak tree. Or one of those- you know, those huge trees in Africa or somewhere? Huge, hollow trees? They would make a great clubhouse.”

“We should hook up a telly in it,” cheesybri says excitedly, “or a chocolate fountain! Had them at Aunt Marge’s. I dunked my whole arm in it. Dad got well angry, but it was worth it!”

“I’m horrified, but also intrigued,” Crowley says.

“I had a chocolate arm!”

“You’re barmy, Brian,” saltnpepper sighs.

A red bar starts flashing across Crowley’s screen, warning him that he’s about to be kicked out for inactivity if he doesn’t do something. He turns to the exit of their spawn room, and he’s amused to find the enemy team curiously peering through to them.“Well,” he says, “shall we win this one, team?”

The children and Aziraphale cheer as they charge out.

They hadn’t won the game, but that’s only because Aziraphale killed a Reaper before he’d gotten to a helpless Crowley. The redhead had immediately apologised to their new friends because they _just have to take off immediately, this very instant_ , closed his and Aziraphale’s game, took his headset off, sat on Aziraphale’s lap, and settled in for a long, messy snog.

Whoever said video games kill romance was talking out of their arse.

A thought crosses his mind. “How long ago was it?” Crowley asks over breakfast the next day. “When you- when you fell in love with me?”

“Oh, are we feeling soppy today?” Aziraphale teases, crossing his legs. 

“Angel…” 

“Leave me my bit of fun, will you?”

Crowley drags a finger where he’s spilled coffee earlier. “You said you met a boy,” he says, “but you- you don’t really, did you? Meet a lot of boys. In the biblical sense, I mean.”

Aziraphale hums in agreement. “Didn’t meet a lot of boys I was interested in.”

“And then I came along?” Crowley prods.

“You’re like a dog with a bone.” Crowley only grins in reply. “I didn’t fall in love with you immediately, if you must know.”

“Ah,” Crowley says, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. 

Aziraphale takes his hand and brushes his lips across the knuckles in apology. “I’ll tell you a secret though.”

“Mm, yeah?”

“When I got around to falling for you,” Aziraphale starts, hurrying to continue when Crowley begins to pout, “and it didn’t take long, really, my darling. You were, as the kids say, as hot as a three nippled witch.”

That startles a laugh from Crowley. “Do they actually say that?”

Aziraphale shrugs, smiling softly at him. “Sergeant Shadwell seems to think so in his autobiography.”

“Ah, yes, that mad old man!”

“His book is quite popular in the office.”

“Am I- am I really so hard to fall for?” Crowley asks, the smirk on his face belying his amusement.

Aziraphale chuckles. “Now you’re just fishing.”

“Humor me, angel.”

“When I got around to falling for you,” Aziraphale says again.

“Which was?”

“Hush, stop interrupting.” Aziraphale tilts his head back. “It was… in Amsterdam. Yes, I think so. We went there with Hastur, Anathema, Michael, and Beezle?”

Crowley startles. That had been a few months before they’d started dating seriously, and exactly a year and eight months since Crowley had first met Aziraphale and fell for him so hard pining had hurt. “Hastur met Ligur there,” he says. “Practiced his awful Dutch on him.” Ligur, despite carrying the conversation on quite well, turned out to be as British as bakewell tarts. It was hilarious.

Aziraphale nods. “The group wanted to go to the red light district after the Anne Frank museum. I couldn’t get myself to- I was so upset. They had such little rooms… The group made fun of me, as they’re wont to, of course. Silly Aziraphale, too sensitive. I didn’t want to stop any of them from having fun, of course, so I told them I could just stay in the hotel. Shake off that awful feeling.” 

Crowley remembers: Aziraphale was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide as if he hadn't seen anything so terrifying and heart-wrenching before. His Aziraphale, who’d once described the more horrifying parts of the bible in great detail.

“But you… you stayed.” Aziraphale beams at him, and he squeezes their linked hands. “You stayed and hugged me and told me you weren’t one for window displays anyway. We walked around, watched lights reflected on the water. We found a cute little restaurant that sold traditional Dutch food. And you-” Aziraphale flushes. “You gave me your coat. I felt so warm here,” he spreads a palm over his heart, “and I had thought: _this is what it’s like, falling in love_.”

“That’s- angel, I gotta be honest,” Crowley says hesitantly, “that- that was me when I met you.”

Aziraphale smiles, _I know_. “When I got around to falling for you,” he says again, “I realised that you were it. No one else. You were going to be and you still are the love of my life.”

Crowley grins back, trying to hold his tears in. He’s not to start blubbering here, not when he plans to snog the shit out of his angel after. “Sunk cost and all?”

“Oh darling, sunk costs only happen if it were all a waste.” Aziraphale leans over to kiss him chastely, light and dry. “This is all worth it, don’t you think?” he whispers in Crowley’s ear.

Crowley pulls him into a proper kiss, his fiance sinking boneless in his arms. Aziraphale hums in his mouth, well pleased. “The jury’s still out, I’m afraid,” Crowley says.

“Mmm, they need more evidence, don’t you think so?” Aziraphale says into his neck.

“Depends.” Crowley taps his chin, as if in thought, jostling his fiance, “I suppose if it’s… compelling enough, they can be won over.”

Aziraphale sits back, a thoughtful look on his face. “I’ve a proposition,” he says.

Crowley’s mouth dries. “Is it- are we- is this about the balcony?”

Aziraphale frowns at him. “No.”

“Oh.” Crowley ruffles his hair. “You know, it’s not- I don’t really-”

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale says drily.

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t!”

“Mmhmm.”

“Honest!”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale says with a naughty little smirk. Crowley deflates. “Oh darling. Wouldn’t you want some afternoon cuddles instead?”

Crowley perks up. “The jury feels the evidence isn’t convincing as of yet.” After a brief pause he adds, “And way too late in the day. Why not now?”

Aziraphale’s phone pings. He scoots over, unlocking it. “Oh, Anathema’s online. She was telling me she wanted to play competitive with me, but I’d need a little bit of practice.”

“Wha-” Crowley hurriedly grabs his phone, sending her an angry text. “She never asks me to play comp with her!”

Aziraphale snickers. “We’re not all platinum players.”

“Oh. Ohohoho, I see how it is!”

Aziraphale laughs.

“My oldest friend and my fiance! I’ve never felt so betrayed!”

Aziraphale leans over to kiss him, biting his pouting bottom lip before he pulls away. “My dear sweet boy, so heartbroken, so miserable.”

“Woe is me, engaged to a _sniper_!”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Could be worse.”

“Oh yes, _could be worse_! You could’ve been a Hanzo main.” They smirk at each other. Anathema hates Hanzo with a burning passion.

“I can’t wait to get married to you,” Aziraphale sighs, and Crowley, who’s nursed and watered this huge honking crush on him since, well, not the beginning of time, but it sure feels like it, flushes bright and pleased.

“I know,” Crowley says like the debonair rogue he’s always wanted to be around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale leans forward, resting his head on Crowley’s chest. “It’s embarrassing really. I know getting married won’t change a thing between us. We’re still going to be like this, aren’t we? Cuddles and pancakes and all.” Crowley chuckles. “It’s just a piece of paper, but I- I can’t wait.”

“Just tell me when, angel,” Crowley says, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s thick shoulders. “Tell me when, and I’ll make it happen.”

Aziraphale looks up to him, a beam so wide and bright it makes Crowley fall in love with him all over again. “Well, then darling. I suppose I have a new proposition.”


End file.
